


A Walk In The Park

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: slythindor100, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-22
Updated: 2008-09-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One autumn afternoon, five years after the war, Harry bumps into Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Walk In The Park

**Author's Note:**

> **Pairing:** Harry/Draco (Implied Neville/Ginny and Ron/Hermione)  
>  **Warnings:** AU-ish, EWE, fluff.  
>  **Author's Notes:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine.

Shivering slightly in the chilly late September breeze, Harry Potter shoves his hands deeper into his cloak pockets and starts walking faster.   
  
The park is practically deserted on this autumn afternoon.   
  
_Autumn._ Harry grits his teeth. Yes, it’s already autumn, and in no time at all, it’ll be winter and Christmas. He definitely isn’t looking forward to Christmas.   
  
Like every year, he’ll be expected to put in an appearance at The Burrow, only to end up feeling like the proverbial third wheel amongst all those happily married couples and their ever-enthusiastic children.   
  
Hermione and Ron tied the knot a few weeks after they finished school, and three months later, Ginny announced her engagement to Neville.   
  
When Harry had finally broken up with her for good, no massive fall-out had followed. Ginny had already understood Harry’s tastes didn’t exactly lean towards women. She’d probably put two and two together long before Harry himself  had.   
  
Preferences aside, five years after the war, Harry still remains a bachelor.   
  
If anyone asks, he claims he just hasn’t found the right person yet, but the truth is, he has long stopped looking. The blokes he dated over the years, as it soon turned out, were only interested in sharing his fame and money, or they wanted to be able to boast that they’d slept with the great Harry Potter.   
  
Pathetic, really, if not untypical.   
  
All things considered, Harry is better off alone, no matter what his friends say.   
  
Snapped out of his musings, he looks up in surprise at the sound of dead leaves crackling underfoot. A tall, thin figure is striding in his direction.   
  
Harry is about to give the man a curt nod—it’s the polite thing to do, even with a complete stranger—when he recognises him.   
  
“M-Malfoy,” Harry blurts out.   
  
The man frowns. “Potter? Is that you?”   
  
“Er, yeah.”   
  
For a seemingly endless moment, not a word is spoken as the men study one another. The silence between them isn’t the least bit hostile, but it’s certainly awkward.   
  
Harry decides to break it with the first thing that springs to mind. “H-Hi. How have you been?”   
  
Malfoy looks confused, but only for a millisecond. “Fine,” he replies, sounding like he’s on autopilot. “And yourself?”   
  
“I,” Harry begins, but then blurts out, “God, this bloody ridiculous!”   
  
Malfoy raises both eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”   
  
Harry shakes his head. “This.” He gestures between them. “The two of us standing here, exchanging formal greetings like we’re total strangers or something.”   
  
Malfoy crosses his arms in front of his chest. “We’re hardly friends, though, are we?”   
  
“Maybe we should change that?” Harry replies, out of nowhere, surprising them both, and at Malfoy’s incredulous look he adds quickly, “Would you like to get out of the cold and join me for a coffee? I passed a cosy looking café on the way here.”   
  
Malfoy looks momentarily stunned, but soon grins. “All right. Why not? Lead the way, Potter.”   
  
Harry does, and hopes the frantic pounding in his chest isn’t loud enough for Malfoy to hear.   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
  
Meeting Malfoy’s gaze across the table, Harry has to admit the man is looking well; he’s clearly a lot more at ease than he was the last time Harry saw him, too. Those eternally pale cheeks even have a healthy rosy glow today.   
  
“So, what exactly brings you to Rochester, Potter?”   
  
The question is no surprise, really, but still Harry hasn’t a clue how to answer it. The truth is he just went to the station this morning, bought a ticket and somehow found himself in Kent.   
  
“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies, sheepishly.   
  
“Ah, but I asked you first,” Malfoy retorts with a grin.   
  
Harry shakes his head and grins back. Funny how familiar this feels, even though it isn’t; not by a long shot. They never became chummy after the war. They could barely manage to be civil.   
  
Malfoy is the one who speaks again. “As it happens, I’ve been thinking of buying some property in these parts.”   
  
“Property?” Harry frowns. “Are you moving out of the Manor then?”   
  
Malfoy smiles. “I haven’t lived there for a while, actually. When Father was released from prison two yeas ago, the situation at home became rather… strained.”   
  
“Oh?” Harry isn’t sure whether he should ask for clarification, but he’s still an inquisitive Gryffindor at heart, so he can’t help himself. “Why?”   
  
Malfoy’s smile doesn’t falter. “Let’s just say Father and I had conflicting ideas about my future.”   
  
“Oh?”   
  
“He insisted I marry some girl I’d only met once because he and her father had made certain… arrangements when I was still a toddler.”   
  
Harry’s jaw drops. “An arranged marriage? Really? In this day and age?”   
  
Draco smirks. “I’d ask if you were raised by baboons, Potter, but we both know the miscreants you lived with aren’t anywhere near that high up in the food chain, so… yes, my father unwisely thought he could pick out a wife for me, and he continued to hold on to that illusion even after he’d learned that I’m not… that way inclined.”   
  
"Inclined?" Harry blinks. “Y-You mean you…?”   
  
“I prefer the company of men to that of women. Yes.”   
  
In that very moment, Harry regrets trying to swallow his mouthful of coffee, because it almost makes him choke.   
  
Once he has regained his composure, more or less, he looks up with wide eyes that are somewhat teary from his coughing.   
  
“You seem surprised, Potter,” Malfoy remarks dryly.   
  
“Er, well, yeah, I had no idea.”   
  
“You expected me to advertise it?”   
  
“No, I-“ Harry awkwardly brushes some imaginary crumbs off the table. “Of course not.”   
  
“Hm. So, now that we have established why I’m here,”—Malfoy pauses—“how are you enjoying your strawberry cheesecake?”   
  
“It’s very nice,” Harry says quickly, and eagerly latches onto the change in topic. “Mrs Weasley sometimes makes cheesecake too. She loves Muggle recipes, you know. Well, any recipes, really.”   
  
“Do you still live with the Weasleys?”   
  
Harry is pleased to note the lack of disdain in the question. Back in school, Malfoy used to spit out the Weasley name as though it left a foul taste in his mouth.   
  
Harry shakes his head. “It became a bit too crowded over there; all those young couples and little kids. I started to feel like the odd one out, so I moved to Grimmauld Place. I had it completely redecorated. It’s quite nice now.”   
  
“You don’t have anyone special, then?”   
  
A little stunned at Malfoy’s directness, Harry mutters, “No, um, my name makes forging lasting relationships a little difficult.”   
  
“Hm, that sounds quite familiar,” Malfoy says. His genuine smile is contagious.   
  
Soon the conversation turns to more harmless topics, such as Quidditch and music, and to anyone who happens to be watching it looks like the two men at the table in the corner have been friends for years.   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
  
Between pleasant conversation, tasty cups of coffee and two more slices of scrumptious cake, time has a way of passing quickly.   
  
“Well, Potter—Harry,” Malfoy says, as they’re standing outside again in the cold evening air. It’s a little after seven and the café has just closed its doors for the day. “It has been quite enjoyable catching up.”   
  
“Yeah, I-I guess I’d better get going, catch the first train back to London. I think I’ve had a little too much cake to Apparate,” Harry says with a small smile. He seems in no hurry to leave, however.   
  
“You know,” Malfoy adds, a hint of uncertainty noticeable in his usually confident tone. “If you were anyone else, I might ask if you’d…”   
  
Harry thinks his heart just skipped a beat. “Yes?”   
  
“Well, in a nutshell”—Malfoy lets out a nervous cough—“I’d ask you out on a date.”   
  
“Y-You would?”   
  
He nods slowly, a hesitant but calculating look on his face.   
  
“Oh. Then why, er, don’t you?” Harry bites his lip. A strange tension fills the air.   
  
“We do share this rather volatile past, don’t we?”   
  
“Yes. I suppose, but…”   
  
“But?”   
  
Harry rakes a hand through his hair. He’s the Gryffindor here, isn’t he? The type to go boldly, live for the moment, seize the day and all that rot?   
  
He takes a deep breath. “Draco, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night? Um, say, eight o’clock? My place?”   
  
Malfoy frowns uncertainly, studying Harry’s face. “You’re quite sure about this?”   
  
Harry nods.   
  
Malfoy smiles, looking happy and oddly relieved. “All right, Potter.”   
  
Harry can’t stop the huge grin from spreading across his face. “All right.”   
  
"See you tomorrow, then.”   
  
Harry nods. He takes a small step closer, wondering whether he should kiss Draco’s cheek or shake his hand, but both seem a bit forced. He finally settles for giving the man a brief hug, which to his relief is immediately returned.   
  
“Yes,” Harry says. “Tomorrow.”   
  
With that, he turns on his heel and walks back to the station, leaving a smug looking Draco Malfoy behind.   
  
Perhaps, he decides, the coming winter is nothing to dread after all.


End file.
